Excessive Taxes, Wheat Yield Manipulation, Tax Evasion (4)
The maximum tax rate set by the Imperial Court was two-tenths of the harvest.
A lord was free to levy less if he so chose—but never more. Exceed that limit, and the peasantry would be left unable even to sustain a basic living.
And yet the tax the villagers had recently paid—
"They took three-tenths of the harvest! And on top of that, they demanded another five copper just to use the threshing machine!"
"Did they claim, by any chance, that the Imperial Court had raised the tax?"
"They did, exactly that! So we just paid it!"
One of the villagers spat the words out in raw fury. Had the man beside him not hissed, "Enough—before a highborn, stop this…!" he might well have launched into a string of curses.
I understood their resentment. They had worked themselves to the bone and still been denied their due. How bitterly must it have cut them, watching their wives and children go hungry.
What the village headman had done—slapping fees onto the use of tools and equipment—was a classic method of wringing out still more coin. It exploited a loophole in the law, so there was little to be said against it in strictly legal terms. Moral responsibility, however, was another matter entirely.
First, the villagers needed the truth.
"The headman underreported the wheat yield and levied taxes far beyond what the Imperial Court permits. He will answer for those crimes through the proper legal channels."
"Th-then the tax was never supposed to be that high…?"
"Correct. The Imperial Court has not raised the tax rate once in the past ten years. All of it has been for the sake of you, the people of the Empire."
"H-how can this be…."
Embarrassment and dismay washed over the villagers' faces. Then one of them dropped to his knees before me and bowed his head to the ground.
"I—I had no idea, and I dared to misunderstand the Imperial Court—!"
Misunderstand, was it.
A rather sanitized way of putting it, given that they had been covering for their own guilt. No doubt they had cursed the throne with gusto, figuring the Emperor's ears would never reach a backwater like this.
I had no authority to forgive them in the Emperor's name.
Still—
"I am an inspector charged with rooting out corruption. If your own sins weigh on your conscience, go to a cathedral and repent."
There was no reason to drag them in. Every crime traced back to the headman who had set it all in motion.
With that, the investigation in the village was finished.
Lena and I bound the headman and his accomplices and loaded them into the carriage. A faint shudder ran through the frame, and the carriage rolled into motion.
Somewhere along the road, the headman spoke up.
"Inspector… what becomes of us now…?"
"I don't know. It isn't I who will judge you—it's the law. But I'll make you one promise. I will do everything in my power to see that you pay for what you've done. Don't even think of trying any clever tricks."
The headman's gaze slowly sank to the floor.
The good are rewarded; the wicked are punished. That simple principle of the world had gone unheeded in the Empire for far too long.
But from now on, things would be different.
No matter what it took, I would set the Empire right again.
Some time later, the carriage reached Ruintein, the largest city in the Geneva Marquisate.
Lena climbed down and stretched her stiff limbs this way and that.
"We should deal with those two first."
"Yes, I agree. But asking the city guard to take them might be a misstep."
"I suppose it would."
We had resolved the trouble in that little rural village, but that had been secondary. The real objective was to expose the crimes of the Marquis of Geneva. That was also why we could not entrust the prisoners to the city guard—we had no certainty they were not already tied to the marquis.
I would face him eventually. That moment simply was not now. We needed firmer evidence first.
"Then I'll go."
"I'll go. I can't very well leave this to my senior—"
"Senior or not, you seem more capable than I am. Just take it as a sign of how much I trust you."
Lena gave my shoulder a light pat and turned toward the carriage. Without looking back, she waved a casual hand.
"See you around this time tomorrow—."
"Yes. I'll be waiting."
She climbed aboard, and the carriage soon pulled away. I watched it dwindle into the distance, then at last set my own feet in motion.
I already had the bare minimum of evidence. The village headman and his men would testify to what the Geneva nobility had done. Silence was not an option open to them.
There was a world of difference between acting of one's own will and acting under orders—and if they refused to speak of the Marquis of Geneva, their punishment would only grow heavier.
So what I needed to do from here was this: gather still more conclusive proof, enough to answer the moment the marquis tried to cut his losses and abandon his pawns.
Fortunately, it would not be difficult.
Lydia's diary already recorded the crimes he had committed.
"These three. I'm counting on you."
"Yes, ma'am! Transfer received!"
The knights who took custody of the village headman and his men snapped off a salute. That crisp military bearing was itself proof of an inspector's authority.
"Yes. Good work."
Lena returned the salute half-heartedly and turned away. The headman and his party would spend the coming days in prison under temporary detention. How long that lasted would be for the law to decide at a formal trial.
In time she reached the Inspectorate. Even the exterior looked unclean, thick with the atmosphere of graft. She clicked her tongue and passed through the entrance, then followed the left-hand corridor all the way to the office of the 1st Division at the very back.
She opened the door and found the division chief as usual, face buried in his desk. Figuratively, of course—he was simply staring a hole through a stack of documents.
"Chief."
"You're back? Sooner than I expected."
"Only I came back for now. More importantly—can we talk for a moment?"
"Of course."
Albert rose from his seat. Before long the two of them stood in the small garden within the Inspectorate grounds—the same place where Albert and Caenderic had spoken before.
"How was he?"
"I still can't believe talent like that ended up in the First Division."
"I expected something of the sort, but if you're saying that, he must truly be remarkable."
"Looking only at the results, yes. But the process was a little…."
"The process?"
"He seemed a bit unhinged. He doesn't just despise corruption—he hates it. Beyond hate."
That was the Caenderic Lena had seen. A man who would not flinch at killing anyone who fostered corruption—a cold-blooded figure with neither pity nor tears. There was no argument that he was exactly the kind of talent the First Division needed. Even so, she could not shake the sense that he was extreme.
Albert fell silent for a moment, weighing the thought, then spoke quietly.
"The fact that he is a Lichtenhaus already puts him beyond anything we can control. All we can do is ride the current he creates."
"So that was why you brought him in."
"Yes. Left to ourselves, we were destined for a dog's death sooner or later. So pray. Pray that he leads us down the right path."
Albert clasped his hands behind his back and walked slowly on. Lena watched his retreating figure, then lifted her gaze to the sky.
Indifferently, blithely, the sky was a perfect blue.
"Life really is hard…."
After Lena left for the Imperial Capital, I remained alone in Ruintein and sought out a waystation.
Waystations were places that ran and rented carriages, operated not by private individuals or local lords but by the Church. More precisely, it would be fairer to say they had come to be run by the Church.
Cathedrals were so numerous it was said one stood nearly everywhere in the Empire; by managing waystations, they could secure funds for their own operations.
I reached the waystation—that is, the cathedral—around the hour the sun was fully setting. The red light of dusk struck the stained glass and unfurled a scene of striking beauty. Goddess statues and grand paintings throughout the hall only deepened the atmosphere.
A single cleric happened to be offering prayers in the chapel. I waited until he finished, then approached.
"Father."
"Yes, brother. How may I help you?"
"I would like to meet the person who manages carriage rentals."
"I will assist you. Please, follow me."
The cleric smiled kindly and led the way. I followed, and before long we arrived at the waystation proper. Behind the cathedral stood lodging facilities of considerable size, along with stables.
"The one who manages the lodgings also oversees the carriages."
"Thank you for showing me the way."
"It was no trouble. May your day be a blessed one."
The cleric traced a brief sign of the cross and left. I went straight into the lodging house and found a man who appeared to be the caretaker.
"Welcome."
Dressed in the black garb distinctive of the clergy, he inclined his head with a gentle smile.
"I am an inspector dispatched from the Inspectorate. Forgive the intrusion, but may I ask a few questions?"
"Of course. As many as you like."
"Has the Marquis of Geneva recently rented carriages in large numbers?"
The Marquis of Geneva had foisted his share of the wheat onto the neighboring counts. That would have required a great many carriages. He would almost certainly have rented some from this waystation as well—and if so, a record would remain.
"Yes… I believe I was told it was for transporting wheat…."
Got him.
The second piece of evidence.